“I didn’t think dragons could cook,” someone else said.
“They can roast humans without trouble.”
“That wouldn’t be allowed here.”
“Are you sure? They haven’t announced the ingredients for the last meal yet.”
Rylana spotted the goblin coming out from behind the stage and ambling toward his fellow goblin who’d remained on their bench. She was tempted to pounce on him and ask questions, but a golem stood ten feet away from her. Even though she told herself that neither the goblins nor anyone else would be likely to start a fight or do anything illegal with so many peacekeepers around, she couldn’t help but glower suspiciously at the arsonist. He was still on Yerin’s payroll and up to something; she was certain.
The goblin spotted her and stumbled, but he recovered quickly and looked away, hurrying to join his comrade in the front row.
Hadn’t he had a lunchbox with him before? He wasn’t holding anything now, and his buddy wasn’t holding an extra one.
Rylana looked toward Yerin and caught him lifting his head to meet the gaze of the goblin. He gave a curt nod, then returned to mixing and cutting.
Oh, yes, they were up to something. Rylana longed for her mercenary days when she could have subdued an enemy, dragged him back to her camp, and questioned him at knifepoint.
“You have ten minutes left to complete your meal in this round,” the announcer called to the chefs.
The judges rubbed their hands together, ready for the nextoffering. A few servers walked to their tables to collect the plates. Because they had so many submissions yet to taste, they hadn’t finished the offerings from the first round, and the servers distributed the leftovers to people in the front row, waving for them to share the food around. That elicited cheers from the crowd.
One of the people who received a plate was the arsonist goblin. He lifted it with a whoop, took a bite, then turned and walked up into the rows of benches, offering morsels to people seated higher. Something told Rylana he wanted to avoid her coming over and grabbing him, not that he cared about sharing.
She shifted the bags of rock candy in her arms, half-tempted to hurl one at the back of his head and see if she could knock him out. He wouldn’t be able to enact whatever Yerin wanted if he was unconscious. But she couldn’t think of a way to make braining a goblin look like an accident, and a couple of peacekeepers were still watching her, probably because she was standing on the side instead of sitting, cheering, and eating bits of food.
“One minute remains,” the announcer called. “If you haven’t started plating your dish, you’d best do so now.”
Rylana caught Vormalt looking at her. He patted the bench next to him and raised his eyebrows in invitation. Wanting her to sit down where he could keep an eye on her? Or question her further about her father’s estate and if she might take him for a visit? That was what she thought he’d been angling toward and deemed it more likely.
The servers jogged to the stage with trays to collect and number the second round of entries. After his dish was taken, Jildarin cleaned his knives, then shifted and stretched, like an athlete keeping limber for the next round in a boxing match. When their gazes met, he gave her a confident nod.
Rylana nodded back; though, as the judges sampled each of the entries, she eyed the goblins again, worried she would missher opportunity to stop them. The one who’d distributed food had ended up sitting on the top row near Vormalt. They weren’t speaking with each other, but Rylana wondered if, through Yerin, they knew each other and were both part of his plan.
“The judges are tallying!” the announcer called with excitement.
Murmurs of speculation came from the crowd.
“Ah, here we have the results of round two. Once again, Chefs Yerin and Jildarin have been selected for the top dishes, with Jildarin's scoring one more point than Yerin’s. Chef Higlyar had the number one dish but, due to a lower score in the first round, is now in sixth place. The contest may come down to Yerin and Jildarin, with the dragon chef surprisingly two points in the lead at this time.”
Surprisingly? How offensive. It wasn’t a surprise that Jildarin's food was wonderful.
People in the benches called out for samples.
“For round three,” the announcer said as the servers took dishes to distribute, “and the final meal, the chefs will use the ingredients of turtle eggs, sea lettuce, and tarragon. Time starts now!”
Without hesitation, Jildarin strode to the pantry. Yerin shot him a dark glower and tossed a significant look toward his goblin ally before retrieving his own ingredients.
Rylana picked a route up through the benches, intending to squeeze in to sit right beside the arsonist and make sure he didn’t do anything. But when she drew close to him, the goblin turned and rose, pointing out at the lake.
“Dragon!” he cried. “A dragon is flying toward Tranquility.”
As one, the people in the benches also stood and turned to look. The judges did, too, and some of the chefs paused. Others, determined to win, did not.
Rylana didn’t see a dragon in the sky, despite the goblinjumping up and down, and shouting, “There, there! It just flew behind the castle on the far side of the lake.”
Rylana turned in the opposite direction—toward the stage—and jumped onto a bench. She was positive the goblin was trying to distract everyone because… Because why?
There. An unassuming man with a press pass rose from his seat behind the stage. He pulled a crossbow out from behind him, no sign of a tranquility ribbon knotting it, and pointed it at the contestants. No, atJildarin.
